


girls like that don't sleep alone

by leiascully



Series: New York AU [4]
Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-22
Updated: 2009-07-22
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:47:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walk me home?" Kara murmurs as they circulate through the scene of her triumph, and it isn't a question, it's an order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	girls like that don't sleep alone

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: NY AU  
> A/N: The further adventures of NY!Lee and NY!Kara. Title is from John Mayer's song "Stitched Up".   
> Disclaimer: _Battlestar Galactica_ and all related characters belong to Ronald Moore, NBC Universal, Sci-Fi Channel, and Sky One. No infringement is intended and no profit is made from this.

"Walk me home?" Kara murmurs as they circulate through the scene of her triumph, and it isn't a question, it's an order.

"So this is your Apollo?" asks a lean woman in a black dress that looks like it costs more than two months' rent on Lee's apartment. She has a faint accent. "I can see why."

"He looks like he could heal anything that ails you," says her male companion, looking Lee up and down. Absurdly, Lee blushes a little.

"Lee," Kara says smoothly, "these are your new benefactors. Madame is the one who bought the painting."

"Charmed," the woman says, shaking Lee's hand with a firm grip. "I am glad that you and our Kara have come to an accord. I hope to see much more of you."

"Oh, much more. One for every room in the house, perhaps," her companion says. "I imagine it would be immensely popular in the bedroom."

"I'll consider it," Kara says laconically.

"As the muse moves you," Madame says, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Madame." She dips her head slightly, Madame nods back, and Kara takes Lee's arm and moves on.

Almost as soon as they're through the front door, she has him pressed to the wall, her mouth hot on his and her hands busy inside his shirt where she's ripped open the buttons. Her fingers are electric against his skin, like the time his mic wire came loose and shocked the place behind his ear. Lee pulls her against him, wanting the life in her all around him. Someone passing on the sidewalk gapes at them through the glass door. Kara shoves her hips against Lee's, but he breaks away.

"Not here," he says. "Not where people can see."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Apollo?" she asks, but grabs his hands and drags him up the stairs.

"Firmly governed by my sense of propriety," he calls, stumbling even though he only had one glass of wine. He's drunk on her tonight.

"Embrace your godliness," she says, jamming him up against the landing wall with a quick kiss and a grope that leaves his head reeling. He's glad her apartment is only on the fourth floor; by the third flight of stairs, the movement of her ass and the way her skirt slides up her thighs as she climbs has him willing to set her back against any flat surface and push her dress up over her hips. He runs his fingers down her spine as she unlocks her door and she pulls him inside and yanks the rest of his buttons loose. She shoves his shirt open, pushing his blazer off his shoulders and stripping his t-shirt over his head until he's bare-chested and gasping with lust.

Her grin is maniacal, driving him crazy. He reaches for the hem of her dress and pulls it up and off in one movement. She stands there in her black underwear and her heels, one hand on her hip, a challenge in her eyes, and he reaches out and pulls her to him, sliding one hand down her leg until he can hook it over his hip. She locks her calf behind his ass. Her heel gouges his leg as he kisses her, her teeth sharp against his tongue.

The rush of her skin against his makes him think of the photos of the launch of Apollo 11: hard burn and a bone-shaking sense of flight. He has the same sense of wonder, the same sense of limitless vistas and that moment of prayer, seeing the Earth rising over the curve of the arid moon, like his life until now has been that bleak and dusty plain, and she's the miracle of growing things.

"Stop thinking so goddam much," she hisses, and slurs the word a little so it sounds like "gods".

"Been thinking about you," he whispers, ashamed that it sounds like a line.

"Well, you're not _dead_," she says, and undoes the button of his trousers, her hands working in the narrow space between their bodies. Her fingers slip inside his boxers and wrap around his cock.

"I might be," he chokes out.

"Aww, Lee, you'll miss all the fun," she purrs.

"God," he says, his head tipping back as she slides down his body. Her tongue curls around the head of his cock and he melts from the balls back, his bones turning into liquid. He catches himself against a table. She takes him deeper and all he can do is make guttural choking noises. He sounds like an idiot, he's sure, but god, he just can't. Can't function. He breathes by her grace now: if she releases him, if she doesn't, either way she has the say over whether he lives or dies.

The cold air of the room is a shock on his cock, and it isn't even cold, it's just not the heat of her mouth. She drags him across the room and he somehow manages not to trip over his trousers. They're lost somewhere in the mess on the floor, along with his shoes and his shirt and her dress and shoes and, by the time they reach the bed, their underwear. She's naked and she's glorious. He can't get enough of her. His hands slide along her ribs and over her hips; he cups her ass and pulls her against him as she digs her nails into his back.

"Ready?" she says, biting her lip.

"Oh yeah," he breathes, and she shoves him backwards onto the bed, straddling him. She sinks onto him and he clasps her to him, her breasts brushing his chest. "Don't move."

"You're not the boss of me," she says, shifting her hips.

"God, Kara, don't move," he pleads. "I can't take it. Just give me a second."

"Better learn fast," she says, and moves over him. He groans and pulls her head down roughly for a kiss. He's dissolving inside her. He thinks of a movie he saw, where a spaceship flew too close to the sun, thinks about the heat of vaporization. She has a rough of his painting on the wall. There's a sunburst behind his head, a painted halo, and it looks like the edges of his skin are melting into the light. It feels true to life. He can't get enough of touching her. He puts his hands all over her and she rewards him with moans and sighs and it just turns him on all over again, makes him touch her and touch her and grind against her until she's almost screaming and he's shouting her name, lost in the bright cloud of her hair.

He falls asleep with her in his arms, her arms and legs spread across the bed like she's conquered the earth. He wakes in a pool of sunlight, Kara gone but the sound of water in what must be the bathroom. He turns over, wanting a glass of water. Her watch is on the bedside table. It doesn't look as if she wears it often. There's a pair of earrings there too, and a lipstick, and a photograph.

He picks up the framed photograph. Kara stands in the dappled light under an arbor, in front of a brick building, her arm around the waist of a tall guy with dark hair and an idiot grin. Kara comes out of the bathroom, wiping her damp hands down her hips. She glances at the photograph and reaches into her dresser.

"Who's the guy?" Lee asks, just casual.

"My husband Sam," she says shortly, pulling on a pair of underwear.

All the breath goes out of Lee, like a movie he saw once where an oxygen hose ruptured and some poor bastard suffocated in the cold of space.

"You're married," he says, finally.

"Don't worry about it," she says, dragging a t-shirt over her head. It's the sexiest thing he's ever seen. "Sam and I, we've got an arrangement."

"An arrangement," Lee repeats stupidly, wishing he had clothes on.

"We were right out of college," she says, "we were dumb, he doesn't live here, we have an arrangement."

"No, wait," Lee says, staring at the photograph. She comes and snags it out of his hands and puts it face down on another table. "I know that guy. Sam Anders, right? The basketball player."

"The basketball player for the Phoenix Suns," she points out. "As you may recall from elementary geography, that's pretty far from here. We have an arrangement. It's not really any of your business."

"It's my business now," he says, fired up. He scrambles out of the bed and reaches for his boxers. She picks them up and dangles them in front of him.

"Not anymore, it's not," she says, and pushes his boxers into his chest until he takes them, then turns on her bare heel and walks into her studio.

Lee stands naked in the middle of her apartment and curses. Slowly he picks up his clothes and puts them on. He'll splurge on a cab home. He doesn't have the energy for everything else. His head is jangling; his body aches. Zak was right. Kara Thrace is a force to be reckoned with.

He looks behind him as he closes the door, but her studio remains stubbornly shut.


End file.
